The map was on my white mac book screen. There was a red point where the earthquake originated. Red circles surrounded the origin representing the girth of the effects.
The earthquake was between Pokhara and Kathmandu. These two cities helped with my fear of poverty. Exposure Therapy.
I will bring you with me to Pokhara. Sweat dripped down my spine that was covered by the orange backpack which was determined to pull me to the ground. The back pack mimicked a giant taking advantage of a piggy back ride I offered. The humidity in the air contrasted with the cool breeze that nibbled my skin. It felt as though I was in the midst of a contradiction. Pokhara is a city that is known for its lake and its mountains. Well technically the mountains did not belong to the bustling city filled with travel agents, and cafes with food trying to be western, and poverty and filth in the cracks. The mountains sprawled through Nepal, like jewelry on the limbs of an elegant woman.
I did not focus on the lake or the mountains. I was distracted by the crowds of people, vagabonds and locals mixed. From high above, maybe on the tops of the mountains, the people would create an eclectic tapestry filled with color and intrigue. My exhausted body was overtaken by relief when I found the hostel I would stay in. The dark clouds consumed the sky. It was monsoon season, and the daily downpour would soon begin.
I climbed to the roof of the hostel, unable to sit still after winding in a bus through the curves of this elegant, understated country. The floor of the roof was covered in gravel. The raindrops slowly started to create music on the old torn wood railings, barely keeping people from jumping or falling. There was a large metal fixture that was in charge of something mechanical. I couldn’t tell you what. Three large ravens stood on top of the fixture, not allowing the rain to scare them from their duty to protect its innards. Just past the ravens stood the mountains, the only architecture sturdy in this country of poor foundations and faded colors. Gray skies allowed the white caps of the mountains to glow like halos. I was drenched in sweat and rain. She, Nepal, would be my home for a while and those mountains would become familiar, similar to the grooves in the palm of a best friend.
As a friend her pain, becomes an event I empathize with . An event that forms nostalgia and need to write. The next time I visit her she will have scars and I will not know what to say to comfort her.